Thank you, Bob Carey

 

Bob Carey, L.A. Times photo editor (and photog extraordinaire) was one of the first to help with this little blog when it debuted last February. Even after his duties switched to assembling the photo galleries that are so popular with online readers, Bob kept pitching in. Today, after 24 years years at The Times, it's Bob's last day. Not quite his choice, but that's how things are around here right now. Bob's too quiet and modest for a big to-do so instead, here are some photos he shot, some choices he did make. One look and you'll see why so many of us are so sad to say goodbye. For a couple more pix (including one of Bob at his send-off yesterday) click on the jump. -- Veronique de Turenne Photos: Bob Carey / Los Angeles Times

 

Above is just one of about a zillion of Bob's fire photos I found in the archive.

That's Bob on the left, with his lovely parting gift from the LAT photo staff.

 

Comments

[Kathlean]

Thanks for the send-off blog. I'm Bob's youngest child, living in Utah. I've always been immensely proud of my father. Being able to say "My dad is a photographer at the Los Angeles Times," has always been a part of my own identity. I don't know if most people know the kind of bravery it takes to do what he did; it always instilled in me a sense that I, too, could be brave in the face of danger.

I remember a year when the wildfires were so severe that the skies over Ventura stayed dark for days, with a violently red sun, and my father climbing into his car with a fire-fighter's suit and boots in the back. At one point he had gone to report on the fires in normal shoes, and the soles had started to melt beneath him--after that, he went prepared.

When the verdict came in from the Rodney King trial, my father loaded some food, water, a sleeping bag, and one of those enormous metal flashlights that doubles as a weapon into his car and drove off to cover the riots in Los Angeles. I was 17 at the time, about to enter the Air Force, and my military records were singed around the edges because the MEPS military intake station was burned to the ground. Bob didn't come back home for two days, though he called in periodically to let us know he was okay. We watched the news and wondered where he was and how he was doing--and if he was getting the pictures. Afterward he wanted to go help provide food with his church group, but they decided it was too dangerous.

I also remember the morning that we four children woke dad to show him a spider's web, perfectly formed and coated in the morning dew; he took a photo, and it ended up in the newspaper.

I have many other memories of things my father has done throughout his career with the LA Times, and I've tucked away some of the written accounts he's given to those of us in his family. The 1989 San Francisco earthquake--I bring out his photos to show my middle school students when I teach them geology. He went to Somalia when the relief efforts were going on, and those pictures I lend out to the Social Studies teachers once in a while--this is what reality is like in other parts of the world. It's my hope that one day Bob Carey will write a book about his experiences.

Photographers are brave--they have to be. They go where the police and fire-fighters go and follow the soldiers into dangerous situations, armed only with a camera. They also take pictures of people whose houses have just burned to the ground or been shattered in earthquakes--and often my dad or the reporter with him was one of the people to offer comfort to those people in shock. My hat is off to all the people who continue on to work to make the news available to us all.